


Supernova

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Collars, Dom/sub, Dominance, Leashes, M/M, Mirror Universe, Pon Farr, Public Humiliation, References to Torture, Rough Sex, Soul Bond, Submission, Violent Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Vulcan’s pon farr is a dangerous affair. ...Jim’s pretty sure he can take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drugelis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drugelis/gifts).



> A/N: As requested on my Primer~
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Jim stays behind several minutes after the agonizer is done. The security team look at him, ready to start it again on his word, but Jim’s pretty sure the crumbled boy in the booth couldn’t take another round. Killing an ensign for mispronouncing a nebula is standard practice in the Empire—Jim’s authorized to end whatever life he wishes. But then Jim would have to find a new navigator and a new set of eye candy, so it’ll have to be one round today.

Chekov’s slumping against the glass, panting and crying, flushed and twitching slightly from lingering pain. It’s this pain Jim finds so entertaining, or perhaps attractive, and he winds up just nodding and growling, “The four of you. You remember stopping Hendorff’s mutinous plans last month, I imagine?” The head red shirt nods. “Don’t say I never reward loyalty. I want Ensign Chekov alive and back on the bridge tomorrow at the start of alpha shift.” Stopping to smirk, Jim finishes, “Until then, he’s yours to play with.”

All of the men break out into grins, and the lieutenant in charge barks, “Thank you, Captain.” He salutes to the Empire, and Jim mirrors it.

Then Jim’s heading to the turbolift, steps as light as they always are after a good punishment. Never mind that he actually finds Chekov’s accent quite endearing—there were no other mistakes to punish anyone for, and Jim needed to hear someone _scream_. A new ensign, headed for the same turbolift, seems to think twice when Jim steps into it, and she hastily disappears down a side corridor, giving Jim his space.

It’s going to be a good day, he thinks. The turbolift ride is smooth on the way up, and he can hear the standard bridge operation noises as he gets off on the top floor: all the little beeps and whirring. He meets Spock halfway to the doors, and he’s about to turn through them when Spock says, “Captain.”

Jim stops just short of the glass doors opening. “Yes?”

Then Spock does something very unusual. He glances sidelong at the bridge doors and takes a step away from them, ushering Jim along the wall. More out of curiosity than anything else, Jim follows. Spock’s posture is as impeccable as always, hands held behind his back. But there’s something off about his eyes; they’re not as cold and closed as usual. He looks almost imploring when he says, “I am requesting that we change course for Vulcan.”

Jim arches an eyebrow. “That’s days away. Why?”

“It is a... private matter.”

That’s odd, to say the least. Spock isn’t one to keep secrets from his captain. And besides: “You don’t get to have anything private from me.” Jim turns and heads back towards the bridge. It’s obvious Spock needs to follow. As soon as Jim’s reached his chair, he orders, settling down, “You’ll tell me why you want to go to Vulcan.”

Spock stops at the side of his chair, stiff and frowning. “Vulcans do not like to speak of it.”

Idle threats aren’t normally a necessity with his first officer, but because Jim’s just in that mood today, he calls, “Darwin. Who had that seat this morning?”

“Ensign Chekov, Captain,” Darwin barks from the lowered console.

“And why isn’t he sitting there now?”

“He was sent to an agonizer booth, Captain.”

“And why was he sent to an agonizer booth, Lieutenant?”

“He mispronounced a word, Captain.”

“Exactly.” Jim turns to Spock, paraphrasing more quietly, “I’ve killed men for less. Now, tell me why you want to take my ship to Vulcan. That’s an order, Commander.”

There’s a strange, dark look in Spock’s eyes that suggests he almost might rather die than betray this confidence. Instead, he slowly opens his bowed lips, saying haltingly, low enough that no one else will hear, “I believe I am entering into _pon farr_ , Captain.” At Jim’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates, “It is a Vulcan... ailment. A neurological imbalance that strikes several times in a Vulcan’s life, rendering their logic... particularly flawed.”

“Oh no,” Jim chuckles. He adds sarcastically, “We’d better head to Vulcan immediately before you do something _illogical_.”

Evidently, Spock doesn’t find that funny. He waits for Jim’s sigh and gesture before he continues, “It is a very grave condition. It sends the host into a state of utter madness, culminating in certain death if certain conditions are not met.”

Here Jim stops laughing. His gaze had drifted off towards the viewscreen, but now it snaps back to Spock, standing unobtrusively next to his chair, voice as calm as ever. Jim can tell a few other bridge officers are listening in, glancing around their peripherals. It’s no secret that Spock is Jim’s favourite. Jim repeats dryly. “...Death.”

“Death, Captain.”

“Unless...”

Here Spock looks aside. Sulu, who’d been glancing over his shoulder, quickly looks away. If Jim didn’t know better, he’d say Spock’s cheeks were looking a bit greener than usual. Clearing his throat in a blatant stall for time, Spock says in a lowered whisper, “At this time, we are required to... to take a mate. And to copulate with that mate. It is a very... intense... affair.”

Jim can imagine. Vulcans are stronger than humans on a normal day. Jim’s never seen a ‘mad’ Vulcan.

Thinking, Jim asks slowly, “And what will they do on Vulcan for you?”

Here, Spock leans a bit back, away from Jim. “They will... provide me with a suitable mate.”

Jim snorts instantly. “Don’t be stupid. Why would you ever think I’d let anyone else have you? You’re _mine_ , and you know I don’t share.” Jim demonstrates by climbing to his feet and reaching out, stroking Spock’s cheek. Spock doesn’t move so much as a centimeter, though his eyes burn. Jim traces his fingers along the bottom of Spock’s chin and thumbs Spock’s high cheekbones, not caring who can see them. Another mate isn’t an option. Spock dying isn’t an option. And Jim does rather like the sound of this _intense_ copulation. He’s never fucked a mad Vulcan before, but he knows he can handle a sane one. Spock doesn’t say anything until Jim drops his hand a minute later.

Then he says, “Captain, I will not be in control of my actions. Vulcan strength is...”

“Nothing compared to mine,” Jim growls, cutting Spock off. Spock closes his mouth instantly; he knows better than to counter Jim in the middle of the bridge. Smirking, Jim returns his hand to Spock’s chin, tilting Spock’s face up as though to inspect it. He purrs casually, “You yield to me now, and you will yield to me during this _pon farr_. That’s not an order; that’s the way it will be.”

Spock’s pupils are more dilated than usual. He looks like he might disagree, but he breathes, “Yes, Captain.”

* * *

They haven’t spoken of it all day, aside from Jim having Bones confirm Spock’s explanation. The medical records don’t hold anything about _pon farr_ , but it is supposed to be _private_. Bones confirms the chemical imbalance, anyway.

And now their shift’s over and they’re in Jim’s quarters, like they often are, playing a game of chess. Spock must be very sick indeed, because he’s losing spectacularly. He doesn’t seem to have his usual focus. His eyes keep shifting over Jim’s chest and across Jim’s broad shoulders, occasionally slipping down to the prominent bulge in Jim’s lap. It’s a strange role reversal. As much as Jim openly eyes his officers—often touching after a favourable review—it doesn’t work the other way around. Especially from Spock, Jim’s personal robot. Today, Spock’s lost all pretense. He seems to fight with himself over openly salivating at the sight of Jim’s body, and Jim makes it worse by spreading his legs and letting his head fill with images of _Spock_ , naked and sweaty, tied to Jim’s bed like he was the other night. Jim even massages himself through his pants once or twice. Those times, Spock unabashedly _stares_.

As Jim takes Spock’s queen, Spock says a little thickly, “Captain, I will... I will have inordinate physical power and stamina when the _pon farr_ hits...”

“I’m aware of that, Commander,” Jim answers leisurely, watching Spock put his knight in clear danger. “I assure you I can handle it.”

“I do not doubt that you can. However... I may... I may attempt to...” Spock’s fingers flex, and he weaves them together over his knee. “It is very likely that I will, in human vernacular, attempt to be on top.”

“Wouldn’t that be a privilege,” Jim snorts. That’s not something he allows often, and certainly not at someone else’s request. Jim was born to be on top in every aspect of life. He looks straight across the table, catching Spock’s eyes and holding them there. He says very plainly, “It doesn’t matter what you’ll attempt to do. You’re mine; I _own_ you. Not the other way around. I’ll have you as I want you. This changes nothing.”

While Spock struggles not to say anything, Jim imagines a gag between those pretty lips. Perhaps if Spock’s madness drives him to say things he shouldn’t say, Jim will be forced to muzzle him like a dog. The thought makes Jim’s cock twitch. Spock’s mouth looks hot stretched around anything. He runs through the different equipment possibilities in his mind while Spock moves his castle to Jim’s end of the board.

* * *

“What if we go through their system in warp drive, then switch direction mid-flight and drop out right on top of them?”

Scotty cringes and moves his head, making that unsure sound that he does when he’s torn between abating the truth or Jim’s temper. Finally he settles on, “I cannae recommend it, Captain.”

Jim frowns. That was already his last option—there’s nowhere else to go. The Andorians already have more ships at Tahrehs III, and Jim needs the element of surprise to conquer them. That planet is perfectly suitable for an Empire mine, and he intends to claim it first. This time he’ll have to guard it until the Empire can send the proper offensive equipment. He glances over his shoulder at Spock, who doesn’t provide any useful additives.

Only: “We must find another solution.”

Jim snorts. “No, we mustn’t. I’ve already considering every other option; it’s our only chance.”

More sternly, Spock repeats, “Mr. Scott has clearly said that dropping out of warp would not be a viable option.”

Taken aback, Jim growls, “I’m the captain, and I decide what we do, not Mr. Scott, and I say we _drop out of warp_.”

Voice raised higher than Jim’s ever heard it, Spock practically yells, “That would be a foolish decision!”

Jim doesn’t even think about it; he turns around and backhands his first officer right across that handsome face. Cheek green, Spock’s eyes are wide, as much at himself as at Jim. He turns to Jim with his mouth open, soundless. Jim grabs a chunk of that sleek black hair, jerking it back just to see Spock grit his teeth and wince. Then Jim lowers Spock slowly to the floor by it, making Spock’s knees buckle. When Jim lets go, Spock obediently stays kneeling before his captain.

Anyone else would’ve been killed for that. There’s not a man in the Empire that can yell at Jim Kirk and get away with it. It takes Jim a second to calm himself down, trying to remember the _pon farr_ —the madness—that must be what it is. Otherwise, Spock would _never_ do that. Spock’s head is lowered, body full of shame.

Jim snarls, “Beg for forgiveness.” His harsh tone makes it very clear that he means _well_ —it’ll take a great deal for Spock to avoid an agonizer this time. Jim’s very aware of his audience; pretty much everyone in Engineering has looked over at the commotion. Spock getting punished is hardly common.

Spock must know that he won’t get off lightly. He shuffles back on his knees, lowering down with his hands, down to all fours. Other men have done this before Jim—it’s a method of pleading for one’s life that Jim particularly enjoys. Spock lowers his head and kisses the toe of each of Jim’s boots. Jim sucks in a breath from watching. It’s such a show of _submission_. And he knew Spock was _his_ , just like any of them, but somehow, he never quite pictured Spock licking his boots.

That was a mistake. Now that he’s got it, thoughts of punishment slip out of his head, his blood going to other uses. Spock keeps his forehead pressed to the ground in front of Jim’s feet, pleading in his usual, level voice, “Please forgive my disobedience, Captain. I was not myself. I will do whatever you ask to show my unwavering allegiance and regret.” Jim already knows that. He never asks, only orders, and Spock would’ve always followed.

Because Spock clearly belongs at his feet, Jim purrs, “Lick my boots clean, Commander. You’re going to be nothing more than an animal any day now. You might as well start now.” And Jim says it loud enough that everyone in Engineering can hear it.

Spock visibly shivers, but he dutifully does what he’s told.

* * *

Jim has Bones stationed up on the bridge with him, just in case. Spock’s always with him. Bones’ new assignment is to monitor Spock above all else—Jim doesn’t care what other patients in sickbay might die because of it. As far as Jim’s concerned, his chief medical officer is his to do with as he pleases, and Bones in particular has never been allowed very far from Jim’s grasp.

For now, Spock’s sitting at his console along the wall, back to Jim. Jim’s staring at it, watching the way Spock’s shoulder blades shift uneasily beneath his shirt. Quietly, Bones says, “He’ll go crazy, Jim.”

“I’m aware of that.” The closer it gets, the more real it feels. As much as Jim insists it won’t change anything, it’s hard to not be... _unsettled_ by Spock’s new behaviour. He’s needed to be punished twice now in front of other crewmembers. Jim’s made common knowledge that he isn’t going soft; Spock is going mad. He’s only cutting Spock slack because in a few days, Spock will be an exotic, intoxicating sex slave, bound to Jim’s bed and meant for nothing but pleasing his captain over and over again.

...That isn’t quite how _pon farr_ works, he knows, but that’s how he wants the rumours to be. Jim can’t imagine how many crewmembers are jealous. Humiliating Vulcans is as fun as torturing humans, and Spock has been incredibly _ashamed_ since this started. He hides it well, but Jim knows him and sees it there. As Jim wonders how much worse it’s going to get before Spock snaps, Bones sighs, “It’d be better for him to be given another mate.”

Jim just shakes his head, still watching Spock’s back.

“That’s not an option. Spock’s mine and only mine.”


	2. ~

Spock’s five minutes late for his shift. That’s unusual in and of itself, but the fact that Spock doesn’t comm and explain is even stranger. Jim has an idea what’s happening. He gets out of his chair, pulls his shirt straight, and says, “Sulu, you’ve got the comm.” Then he storms off the bridge, ensigns nervously skittering out of the way. Being late on his ship is not acceptable.

He could stop and ask a computer for Spock’s location, but Jim imagines he won’t be hard to find. Heading for the turbolift, Jim stops short.

Spock’s curled against a panel in the white wall, shoulders hunched and trembling. He slips down to his knees as Jim approaches him, and he starts when Jim touches his shoulder. When he looks over, his face is primal. Blank, and fierce, and strange. Jim tugs at the collar of his blue shirt and purrs, “Come to my room, Spock.”

“It’s... happening,” Spock barely manages, shuddering on each breath. “Captain, I... I try _so hard_ to control it, but I...”

“Shhh,” Jim hisses, petting Spock’s dark hair like a child. “Come with me.”

Spock winces but pushes unsteadily up to his feet. He takes Jim’s outstretched hand, squeezing a little too tight. Jim guides him down the corridor, backing them up towards his rooms. They step through Jim’s sliding doors, and Jim, ready for this, takes Spock straight to the back, straight to his bedroom, to his large, white bed against the far wall. He sits Spock down beside it, and he opens the panel in his wall he uses for special ‘fun.’

Spock is obviously struggling to sit still, but he does, while Jim bends down and clips the newly-extracted, thick metal collar tight around his neck. Spock cringes as it snaps closed. It’s made of a special titanium alloy and should hold even an enraged Vulcan. The collar’s attached to the wall by a long, thin, silver chain that drapes cold down Spock’s back. Spock won’t be able to get past the foot of the bed, which is perfect; he doesn’t belong anywhere else. Jim can lengthen the chain to the adjacent bathroom when need be, but for the most part, he intends to keep Spock on a short rope.

Next are the handcuffs, also parted by a chain and thick around his wrists. They let him move his hands no more than a dozen centimeters apart. It’s more for show than anything. Jim just likes Spock bound up, and he wonders absently if he should fit anything to Spock’s head—perhaps gag or blindfold him. Or maybe fix clamps to Spock’s nipples, chained together, to be used like reigns. Or perhaps tie Spock’s ankles together—he’d look good hogtied, although that would limit positions...

Jim stands up and reaches down, stroking Spock’s chin while he thinks. Spock’s nearly shaking, like a dog trying to keep the instinct to _ravage_ in check. Jim purrs, “Behave.”

Now that Spock’s tied, Jim will need a razor to take off his clothes. But the bonds were best first; Spock’s obviously snapping right now.

There’s a razor in his desk in the living room. He turns to go get it.

He makes it half a step before something’s on him, suddenly grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him over, and Jim loses balance, toppling sideways. He jerks himself free just before hitting the ground and throws himself at Spock, knocking Spock to the floor. As Spock swipes at his legs, Jim dive rolls, coming up behind Spock and shoving Spock forward, climbing onto him. Jim doesn’t even think about it—he follows his instincts and pushes down Spock’s pants, hands grabbing for Spock’s taut ass. He squeezes it and moans.

Jim’s adrenaline’s spiked, and he just needs to assert his ownership. He’s mounting Spock, ready to go. He’s already hard from the mere sight of Spock chained up. Spock suddenly goes rigid. Perhaps he can smell Jim’s cock in the air. Somehow, Jim didn’t think it would happen this fast. He’s not complaining.

He pushes his cock against Spock’s blinking hole, diving in with one hard thrust. That’s all it takes. He slides right in, Spock’s inside squelching slickly around him, coated in some sort of lube. Jim snickers to himself. Spock must’ve seen this coming and prepared himself. He’s nice and stretched, though still deliciously tight. His walls suck greedily at Jim’s cock, and Jim moans in ecstasy.

Spock grunts, still for a precious few seconds. Jim gets balls-deep wondrously fast, and he holds Spock’s hips while he wiggles it inside, rubbing every bit of Spock he can. Spock makes a desperate keening noise. Jim’s been looking forward to this since ‘ _pon farr_ ’ left Spock’s lips...

This really isn’t _regular_ Spock, because Spock makes a horrendous snarling noise and tries to buck Jim off, slamming up into his chest. Jim’s all muscle and takes it, grunting but shoving Spock back down, trying to hold him. Spock tries again, tossing around like a bull. His strength is unparalleled, but he has no control, and that’s the saving grace that makes it possible to handle. Jim’s all tactical knowledge and instinct; he anticipates moves and counters them, and he keeps his cock firmly buried inside that hot ass. He can’t risk pulling out while Spock’s like this—it’d be too hard to get in again.

So he grabs Spock by the collar of his shirt and slams his head sideways, into the bed frame. There’s a sickening crack, and Spock practically crumples. Jim grabs a fistful of hair to keep him up, now able to slide out. Spock seems disoriented and hazy, but he still cries out when Jim slams back in. Jim uses his free hand to grab Spock’s waist, and he has fun feeling everything while he pistons in and out as hard and fast as he can manage. There is no tenderness or care. He fucks Spock brutally and with everything he has, loving the way Spock tries to coordinate his bound hands enough to do _something_. Spock’s a mess. An animal. Jim’s pet, and Jim’s nearly lost in lust. He wants to grab Spock by his pretty ears and nail him into the floor and tie him up on the bridge for all to see and fuck him senseless on every surface of the ship. Every time Spock tries to sit up properly, Jim slams into him hard enough to make him lose purchase again.

Getting fucked by Jim is a struggle for survival. Jim keeps Spock’s head in place, not even letting it turn from side to side, and he runs his other hand up Spock’s back, bunching up the blue and black shirts. He plunders Spock’s ass the whole time, relentless and overpowering. He hisses between pants, “See? I told you you were my bitch. And you wanted to go to Vulcan, pfft... think any of them could give you what I can? You belong on my cock...”

He doesn’t know if Spock can understand him or not. Spock growls in the back of his throat, feral and predatory. He tries to buck Jim off again, this time starting with his hips, but that only drives his ass further onto Jim’s cock. Jim’s almost there, but he doesn’t want to waste the first load. Spock gives a particularly hard thrust, lunging back again and nearly hitting Jim’s nose, and Jim’s knocked off enough for his cock to pop out, engorged and dripping. Jim lets it happen only so he can push back to his feet, grabbing Spock’s leash and yanking him back by it. Spock falls backwards on his ass, and Jim’s towering over him, cock in hand.

Jim takes in every bit of Spock, still dressed but gorgeous, cheeks flushed green and eyes full and crotch bulging, and Jim pumps his cock furiously. He’s coming in seconds, spurting right across his first officer, splattering that handsome face. Jim half expects Spock to pull away, but instead Spock jerks forward, mouth opening and tilting back. Jim keeps pumping—he always comes a lot, but this really has him pent up. A heavy gob lands on Spock’s stuck out tongue, another string draping across Spock’s eyelid and slipping down his cheek. Jim gets it everywhere, until Spock is struggling to hold it all in his mouth.

When Jim’s done, panting and satiated and hungry for _more_ , he wipes his cock off on the side of Spock’s face. Spock closes his mouth and _swallows_ , adam’s apple bobbing against the collar. He’s still painted in it. Perfect.

Jim slaps him just to knock him sideways, then quickly crosses the room. Spock scrambles to his feet and tries to dart after Jim, but the collar jerks him back, and Jim stands just out of reach.

He’s unable to keep the smirk off his face. This beast is _his._ Spock’s breathing so hard that his chest goes concave when he exhales. His fingers are twitching, clawed, at his sides. Feeling oddly benevolent, Jim pulls his gold shirt over his head and tosses it at Spock.

Spock clings to it, breathing it in.

“You’ll have to relieve yourself, this round,” Jim purrs. “I have a bridge to attend to, and I think I’ll enjoy knowing you’re jerking off to the thought of your mate.”

Spock looks ravenous. A starving man in the desert.

Jim turns and heads for the door, not caring that he reeks of sex.

* * *

Bones wanders over to him the second Jim’s on the bridge, looking nervous and whipping out a medical tricorder. Jim rolls his eyes but lets the doctor scan him. It’s several minutes after Jim’s sat down in his chair that Bones finishes, grumbling that Jim’s fine now but won’t be next time. Jim ignores it, naturally.

“Go check on Spock.” Jim nods to the doors. His quarters are already programmed to let Bones in: one of the very, very few men he trusts. “Don’t get too close, though, he’s a bit...”

“Of a monster?” Bones provides. Jim nods. Bones grumbles unintelligibly and rolls his eyes. Jim makes it clear on his face that he doesn’t want to hear it. They’re not going to Vulcan. They’re not getting someone else. They’ve already started; Spock’s already his.

Bones leaves the bridge, though not without complain. Jim’s given a few minutes to enjoy the pleasant leftover feeling after a good orgasm on the peacefulness of his bridge. Then he gets a beep from Bones, and he flicks the switch on his armrest to open a channel.

“He’ll live,” Bones grunts. “But he’ll require fairly frequent sex. ...And by the way, I don’t know how long these bonds of yours are going to hold.”

“They’re from Tarsus II; they’ll hold,” Jim answers. And if they don’t, that would be quite impressive... the idea of a mate strong enough to bend unbendable metal is something Jim actually enjoys. Not that he needs more clout in the Empire, but it’s always nice to be a little more unstoppable...

“Thank you, Bones.” It’s a clear dismissal.

Before he ends the transmission, Bones says, “You’re playing with fire, Jim.”

But that’s something Jim always does. A Kirk specialty. He leans back in his chair, sprawling out and getting comfortable, imaging just what he’ll be able to get his normally prissy Vulcan into. He fully intends to take advantage while Spock is like this. Spock would probably do anything with sex, so long as he gets to have his mate. Jim wonders idly what Spock would look like, bent over the console in front of them with a trail of large, glass beads hanging out of his ass. Or maybe a thick vibrator, permanently set in motion. How logical would Spock be with a fake cock repeatedly battering into his prostate? Jim has reason to believe Vulcans also have particularly sensitive assholes—Spock always squirms so deliciously when Jim tongues his pretty entrance...

It’s a shame Jim can’t afford to take Spock out of his quarters and parade his pet around. Perhaps if he took precautions? The Orions make some particularly enticing chastity devices. He could cage up Spock’s dick and plug up his hole, lock it down and send him back to duty. Perhaps all of Spock should be in a cage; Jim could have one built next to his bed, keeping Spock on all fours and locked up at night, any time he isn’t directly serving Jim. Jim could even rig up a water bottle for him like what some pets get on Earth, rabbits and hamsters. Only, Jim could fill the bottle with his own cum...

 _Fuck_. Now he’s getting hot again. Jim’s head lolls back against the chair, legs spreading wider. He massages himself through his pants while he thinks of his handsome first officer, debased down to nothing.

* * *

Spock’s right where Jim left him, naturally. Jim’s gold shirt is in a crumpled pile by the nightstand, wrinkled from being clutched too tight. As soon as Jim’s through the sliding doors, Spock’s on his feet and straining to reach Jim. Jim stands just that little bit too far away. Spock stops, trying hard to be still.

It’s like a lion waiting for prey to let its guard down. Jim takes a slow step forward, demanding in finite terms, “ _Stay._ ”

Spock’s breathing hard with his attempts to behave. Jim smirks as he gets close enough, and he lifts a hand to pet Spock’s cheek. The cum’s been mostly wiped off, but there’s a drop still above Spock’s right eyebrow. The thought of Bones seeing that makes Jim smile. Spock shudders, lashes fluttering in bliss.

Then Spock snaps again. His chains rattle as he knocks Jim over, and this time Spock’s foot catches Jim’s before he can stand. He falls right on his ass, Spock’s weight suddenly atop him and pressing him down, all over him and _warm_. Jim tries to shove him off, but Spock’s fingers fly to Jim’s face, slipping apart and slamming his skull back into the floor. That’s all Jim gets before it’s happening.

His mind’s open like floodgates. Everything’s pouring in, not _his thoughts_ but _Spock_ , Spock’s words and stories and _emotion_. There’s a rush of memories and colour and light, and Jim’s scrambling to hold onto his, but it’s flying out of his grasp—everything into Spock’s head. Jim’s gasping for breath, eyes wide. He should’ve seen this coming. He knows what this is. But somehow, he didn’t think...

Spock’s trembling, dark eyes boring into Jim, lapping up everything Jim is. Jim could shove him off right now. Ruin this and part, go back to sex.

Instead, Jim stays, letting everything they are intermingle, in a way they’ve always been but never had proof. Now every bit of knowledge is there beneath the feelings. Jim understands Spock to the core. He’s struggling for air when Spock’s fingers slip away. The bond is formed. Jim knows it. He uses it to command, _get off me_.

Spock hesitates. But he does lean back, giving Jim room to sit back, and Jim shoves Spock over. Spock still looks hungry and feral, but he stays still while Jim pulls a knife out of his pocket, snapping it open. Spock’s eyes flicker to it. He doesn’t jerk away, but he looks like he knows he should.

Jim starts with Spock’s collar. He presses the blade against Spock’s clavicle, not enough to cut, but enough for Spock to know to stay still. The fabric is rough and difficult to cut, but Jim rips it to shreds all the same. He tears a fraying trail all the way down Spock’s pale chest, and he takes Spock’s left sleeve and cuts up that, then up the right one, until he can shrug off all of Spock’s shirts. Spock helps toss the pieces aside while Jim starts on Spock’s legs, pulling them out to trace the seam of Spock’s pants. He could just tug them off, but he wants to finish what he started. And he likes the way the blade skims over Spock’s creamy thighs, threatening to tear.

When everything’s clear, everything exposed, Jim lifts the knife back up—he could use a little danger in his sex. He means to press it to Spock’s throat, but before he gets there, Spock’s grabbing Jim’s wrist with lightning reflexes. The knife topples to the floor, and Spock’s knee whips it aside. Spock’s on Jim, mouths pressed together.

Jim’s scream is cut off by Spock’s tongue. His back hits the floor, and he can feel Spock’s freed cock rutting into him, grinding down against his own tight pants. It’s hard and long, paler than Jim’s, and lined in rosy-green veins, pulsing in the need to _take._ Jim knows that from experience. He can only feel right now, can’t see. Spock’s tongue is in his throat. Spock’s bound hands are pressing into his stomach. Spock’s ravenous, scraping with too much teeth.

Jim grabs his shoulders and shoves him off, just as his hands slip between Jim’s legs, tugging his pants down his thighs. It’s all so quick and tight, with no room between them and nowhere to see, and Jim’s got the wind half knocked out of him. He feels Spock’s fingers dipping down his sweaty crack, and Jim snarls, spitting right on Spock’s face without thinking.

Spock winces on contact. Jim’s glaring fiercely up at him, daring him to keep moving. The spit trickles down Spock’s cheek, and his tongue slips past his lips to grotesquely lick at it. Spock’s eyes are nothing but sex. Jim’s temporarily frozen in shock.

Spock takes that opportunity to dive down and start on Jim’s neck, biting it and sucking it immediately, making Jim gasp. The tip of a blunt finger pops inside him. Just a little bit. Teasing, pistoning in further. Jim _roars._ Spock’s kissing and licking all over him, lapping at his throat and worshipping his jaw. The second Spock gets knuckle-deep, Jim reaches down and grabs his big, Vulcan cock, squeezing too tight. Spock snarls but stills. Jim can feel Spock’s heavy balls against the side of his hand, and he growls, “I know you’re having difficulty stringing together sentences, but you will _not_ have me, do you understand?”

Spock doesn’t make any indication either way. He’s shaking with the want to keep _going_ , but Jim’s grip must be painful.

Just in case the words don’t make it through, Jim makes his tone very clear. “Take your finger out of my ass. Now.” And he digs his nails into the sensitive underside of Spock’s dick, just for emphasis.

Spock hisses in pain, but he obeys. His finger slowly slips out, and Jim still doesn’t let go.

He pushes Spock off him and all the way down, so that Spock’s the one lying on his back, Jim hovering over. He’s using the hard cock in his hands like a leash, and he gently thumbs the head when Spock behaves. Then he’s pushing Spock’s legs aside, up and over each shoulder, one at a time to keep his grip. Spock keeps his hands on his belly.

Jim stabs two fingers into Spock’s hole and wrenches it apart too quickly, earning a grunt and a delicious, arching body. Jim slams his cock in all at once again, because Spock’s a sheath for his sword and Spock can handle it. Spock was built for this. Spock takes each brutal thrust that comes, pounding him into the floor over and over again.

Jim lets go of Spock’s dick in favour of shoving Spock’s head to the side, setting in on his neck. It’s time to leave some bruises and some hickeys—anything at all that will let the crew know exactly what happened when he gets back. Jim wants Spock marked and labeled, and he runs his teeth along Spock’s adam’s apple and sucks on his throat, hands skimming all over Spock’s trim waist and hips. Spock’s ass is wondrously tight, and Jim fucks it again and again.

There isn’t as much leverage in this position for Spock to try and buck Jim off, but he certainly tries. Every time he does, it only succeeds in slamming his ass up around Jim’s cock, making Jim moan. Spock’s _wild_ like this. A stallion for Jim to break, to tame. For no reason other than he can, Jim slaps Spock hard across the face, loving the green blood that rushes up to meet him. Spock takes a second to recover, Jim’s hips still going.

Then Spock grabs Jim’s collar and jerks him down, smashing their lips together. Spock’s lip has split, and the exotic blood trickles into Jim’s mouth. He sucks on Spock’s tongue and knocks his chin against Spock’s, his nose against Spock’s, the full force of everything he has pounding into Spock’s body. The bond’s open and their connection’s on fire. Jim’s heady but relentless. It’s too much to take.

But Spock comes before him, howling against his mouth and spurting out between them, splattering their chests. Spock’s ass convulses wildly with his release, squeezing at Jim’s cock and milking out his orgasm, every bit as strong as the first one. He empties himself into Spock’s hot body, grinding it all out. _Perfect_.

He holds Spock down by the hair when he parts, glaring at Spock to stay still, lungs struggling for air and pupils so dilated that his vision’s almost blurry. Jim pulls out and gets shakily to his feet, not bothering to do up his pants.

Spock’s a naked, sweaty, cum-soaked mess. His stomach’s covered and his thighs are dripping. His cock’s still hard. He looks _scrumptious_.

Jim stumbles to the wall and punches in the controls to dislocate Spock’s leash, and he growls at Spock again, “Behave.”

Spock doesn’t indicate a reply, but Jim tugs him towards the bathroom by it anyway. Spock’s forced to follow, and he crawls on his hands and knees behind Jim. There’s another panel next to the shower stall that the leash attaches to. Jim has it shortened, jerking Spock back, head snapping over. Jim chuckles and reaches down to pet him, quickly pulling back when Spock starts looking ready to pounce.

“I think I’ll take some time to sleep now, Mr. Spock, and I can’t do that with you straining at me, now can I?” Spock looks like he’s silently fuming, but it’s clear he won’t be able to reach Jim now. Chuckling, Jim purrs, “Don’t worry. If you’re a good boy, I’ll come back to you after.”

He takes a step forward, intent on patting Spock a few times, maybe on his head or down his back, perhaps even stroking his belly, but Spock jerks forward. Jim steps back instantly and settles for blowing a kiss, smirking wide.

He turns and leaves the bathroom, the doors sliding shut behind him.


	3. ~

It’s the middle of the night. Or at least, the night to Jim. He takes a minute to just lie there and wake up, then he’s thirsty and his bladder’s bothering him. He gets a glass of water first, scratching his stomach sleepily and eyeing his bed while he downs it, walking over to place the empty cup on his dresser. He’s down to just a slack pair of pants for pajamas, but should he put a shirt on? It’s a little cold.

But then, there are better ways to warm up. It takes him a second to remember the treat in his bathroom, and then Jim’s grinning like a wolf. He strolls through the darkness and barks, “Lights,” and then he blinks and scrubs his face at the sudden brightness.

A soft clinking noise rings out from the corner—Spock’s chain swaying as he looks up. Jim walks smugly to the toilet, still out of reach. He openly eyes his pet while he takes out his cock, pissing without any shame. He thinks about Spock while he does it—maybe tying Spock up a little more. He has more equipment in one of his drawers—he could belt Spock up from head to toe, wrapped nice like a present. Tying Spock spread eagle to the bed would probably be a better idea. Or at least a spreader bar. That would certainly make it easier to mount him...

Spock’s staring unabashedly at Jim’s cock, and he licks his lips when Jim shakes out the last drops. Jim tucks himself back in and doesn’t bother washing his hands, just strolls over. Spock gets to his feet slowly, as though moving too fast will scare Jim off. Jim reaches out to pat his cheek, purring, “Look at you, waiting right here for you master, such a good boy...” Spock leans into the touch.

Then he grabs Jim in a flash, hands jumping to the waistband of Jim’s pants, mouth smashing into Jim’s, teeth biting at Jim’s lower lip. Jim pushes at Spock’s chest, and the weak fabric slips out of Spock’s grasp, seams about to split. Jim has about a second of relief before Spock lunges forward again, and the chain behind him snaps. Little bits of metal are flung across the bathroom. Spock’s grabbing Jim and slamming him into the wall, hard enough to make the towels slip off the rack and a few of Jim’s toiletries to topple off the counter. Spock rips Jim’s pants right off his body, the material first digging into his skin. The collar’s still on. Spock splits the handcuffs apart with a horrendous roar and the most terrifying face Jim’s ever seen. The cuffs are still around his wrists, but the chain between them shatters. Jim brings his knee up to smash into Spock’s stomach, but Spock grabs his thighs and wrenches them apart. They’re both all naked. Spock’s dick is dripping with precum, hard and pulsing. It looks _so_ big. Jim groans.

“Spock, don’t you dare—”

Spock shuts him up with a fierce kiss. Jim moves to try and choke him, but Spock grabs his wrists and smashes them into the wall, holding them there. Jim’s fists tremble to escape, but Spock’s stronger. Spock dives his tongue into Jim’s mouth, too quick to be bitten, and Spock kicks Jim’s legs apart.

There’s nothing truly coherent, but Jim’s getting the message of ‘ _mine, mine, mine_ ,’ rushing through the bond. The _want_ Spock has for his mate is almost overpowering, almost enough to blank out Jim’s own head, spiraling him into unconsciousness. He feels like he’s going mad too, just by association. As soon as Spock lets go of Jim’s wrist, Jim tries to shove him back.

Spock ducks down before Jim can touch him and loops his arms under Jim’s knees, quickly springing back up, sweeping Jim right off his feet. Jim yelps as his legs are hiked up into the air, body bending in two. His back’s still forced against the cold, tile wall. Spock jabs a finger into his ass again, raw and dry. At Jim’s instant cry of pain, Spock pulls out and shoves his fingers into his mouth. He gets them dripping and goes back to pressing into Jim, still not wet enough. Jim claws his fingers in Spock’s shoulders, but Spock isn’t budging.

Spock fucks him open with two fingers, then three, going way too fast and too hard for Jim to handle. He isn’t used to being on the receiving end of rough sex, but that only fuels him to fight harder. He struggles in vain and presses his forehead against Spock’s, knowing fully well that Spock’s skull is thicker and a headbutt won’t work.

He’s growling and pushing his anger through the bond, but Spock’s swallowing it up and confusing it with passion. Spock pulls his fingers out and presses the head of his cock at Jim’s entrance, and Jim moans in spite of himself. His nails dig into Spock’s back, and he hisses, “Spock—”

Another forceful kiss. Spock slams inside. Jim _screams_ into Spock’s mouth, full of thick cock in a heartbeat, plunging in too fast and vibrating too hard and too raw. It feels like he’s being split apart, like he’ll tear, and then Spock smashes right into that certain spot that twists pleasure into the pain, not drowning it out but amplifying it. Jim feels like his nerve endings are going to burst open. Spock starts fucking him hard, without any word or warning, just pulling out and slamming in, pounding him into the wall. Jim’s powerless.

Jim _hates_ that, but it also feels good, and he hates that even more. He likes it rough. He loves his Spock. But it’s not supposed to be like this, and he doesn’t make it easy. He tries to bite Spock’s tongue, but Spock retracts it in time, so Jim settles for pushing his head aside and biting his neck hard enough to bruise, breaking skin. Jim scrapes angry, green lines down Spock’s chest, pulls his nipples too hard and leaves the grooves of teeth in his shoulder. Spock just moans and keeps fucking, undeterred and beautiful.

Jim’s completely hard between them. His cock is bouncing against his stomach, his ass repeatedly smacking into the wall. He bruises Spock all over, and Spock lets him. So long as Spock has his dick in Jim’s ass, he seems to be happy. He keeps trying to nuzzle his face into Jim’s, but Jim needs his mouth free to mark. He grabs one of Spock’s pointed ears, and Spock groans as Jim tugs the pointed tip. “You’re being a _very_ bad boy, Spock,” Jim growls. Spock makes an odd whimpering sound and pushes a current of _adoration_ through the bond, enough to make Jim’s thoughts break off in a languid moan.

Spock’s getting close; Jim can tell. Maybe it’s the bond. Maybe it’s the way Spock’s hips work up to terminal speeds, faster than any human could, and Jim’s still reeling in bliss and agony. He’s having trouble seeing straight, having trouble breathing full. Spock takes him and takes him, and Jim’s fucked so senseless that eventually he has to give up trying to cause damage; it’s a struggle just to take it.

Spock kisses his cheek as he wavers, bizarrely tender. But the rest of Spock is still brutal. Then the end rolls through him, and Jim can _feel_ his orgasm, pouring between them—Spock throws his head back and roars, slamming it out. The pleasure feels like it’s going to burst Jim’s brain, and Jim comes between them, unable to resist the call of his mate. It’s wild, it’s intoxicating. It’s _perfect_.

When Spock’s done, he’s spent. He collapses against Jim and he slips down the wall, but his dick only flags halfway, still a little rigid. He slips out of Jim.

Jim immediately punches him in the face—on the cheek, so as not to damage any of his handsome features. Spock grunts, his lip re-splitting, green dripping to the floor. He deserves it. Jim spits on him again for good measure, but after the initial wince, Spock doesn’t seem any more upset about that then before.

Jim’s ass is ridiculously sore against the tiles. He wants to stand up, but he’s not sure how steady his legs will be.

Fuck that. He’s the captain of the Enterprise. He forces himself up, taking a minute, kicking loose the remnants of his pajama pants. Then he walks out of the bathroom, and he doesn’t miss the way Spock follows, no longer leashed.

Jim drops into his bed and turns, beckoning for Spock to come closer. Spock crawls up the bed beside him, and Jim stiffly grabs the collar, hissing, “I don’t have another leash. I’m going to bed. If I find out you left this room while I rested, I’ll cage you up under my bed and I’ll _never_ let you leave.”

He shoves Spock back. He doesn’t know if Spock understands, but he doubts Spock will leave anyway. Spock seems a little satiated now; he isn’t bristling with hunger and sniffing at Jim’s ass.

A part of Jim wants to punish Spock endlessly for that.

But the rest of him doesn’t want to. He knew Spock would try it. If anything, he’s a little mad at himself for not being able to stop it. Though that isn’t helpful, and he tells himself not to think that way. It happened. Only once. It won’t happen again, and when Spock tries to cuddle up next to him, Jim shoves him off the bed and snarls, “Bad pets sleep on the floor.”

* * *

Now that Spock’s had his one round on top, he’s better about letting Jim have him. Jim kicks him awake and tosses him onto the bed, shoving him down in the sheets and forcing his legs apart. Jim’s only got the lights on halfway, but Spock’s awake in a millisecond, lifting up through the darkness. Jim shoves him back down and growls, “You’ll stay on your back and you’ll behave. You’re lucky I don’t leave you to die in an agonizer after what you did.”

Spock’s eyes are intense, and he breathes, “ _Jim..._ ”

It’s strange to hear his voice again, and it comes out raspy and strangled. Unable to resist, Jim purrs, “Spock.”

Their connection’s on fire again. It’s all about them, just the two of them, like they’ve always been and will keep being. Jim couldn’t really leave him in an agonizer. That thought makes Jim’s stomach constrict, but even knowing Spock’s a _weakness_ , Jim can’t change it. He doesn’t know what he’d be without Spock.

He leans down over Spock and opens his mouth, letting Spock meet him halfway. Spock’s palms run flat along Jim’s back, and Jim runs his fingers down Spock’s crack, finding his hole just as wet and ready as earlier. A _pon farr_ treat, maybe. Jim just smiles at it, and even though he doesn’t strictly need the help, he pulls one of Spock’s arms down, wrapping Spock’s fingers around his cock. He probably doesn’t need to give instruction, but he likes whispering things in those pointed ears. He runs his tongue along the curved shell and says, “You’ll make it up to me. Get me nice and hard, baby.”

Spock’s lashes flutter, lips parting. He obediently pumps Jim’s cock, skin rough and dry against him. Just a few, and Jim’s ready. But he lets it keep going because he knows how sensitive Spock’s hands are, and he loves the way it darkens Spock’s cheeks and makes his chest growl. But Jim can’t last forever. He tugs Spock’s wrist away and lines himself up with Spock’s hole, watching the tip press against the puckered muscles.

Spock sighs in pleasure, and Jim slams inside. The tight heat that engulfs him is a pleasant memory, something his cock is used to but can never get enough of. He pushes inside as fast as he can manage, and then he’s rocking back out, cutting right to the chase. A part of him feels like he has to reassert himself all over again. Be on top. Show he’s the captain. He’s as hard as he can manage, slamming in and sliding out and not bothering with the angle, just encasing his dick in the perfect ass of his first officer. When he goes in too hard, Spock grunts, but Spock takes every bit and doesn’t complain. Maybe he can’t. His hips jerk up to meet Jim, hungry for more. He just wants _sex_.

He should be getting punished, and Jim runs his hand along Spock’s throat, squeezing once. Spock doesn’t even try to stop him. Spock’s hands are running all over Jim’s body, palms brushing his nipples and fingers tracing his clavicle, tracing the outlines of his six-pack and rubbing through his pubic hair. They slip around his sides and touch every bit of his back. Taking all of Jim in. Feeling everything, like he doesn’t already know what Jim’s like, inside and out. Jim lets him have his little Vulcan pleasures. The place it really matters is in Jim’s favour. His hips piston as hard as they’ll go. It feels like _rapture._

Jim knows he’s getting close again and doesn’t want to. Spock has a way of ruining his stamina. He pulls out of Spock, ignoring the snarl of protest, and when Spock tries to grab his hips, he shoves Spock’s hands aside. He climbs up Spock’s body, over his legs, to sit on his chest, and he grabs Spock’s wrists again. Spock latches onto Jim’s cock instantly, giving it the final few strokes. It twitches and sprays up across his face, painting him all over again, and Jim leans forward and rubs himself all over Spock’s cheek while he comes. He paints Spock’s lips and coats Spock’s chin, and he dips his spent cock into Spock’s mouth.

He gets a good suck. He rubs the tip across Spock’s face, herding more over, trying to press as much into Spock’s mouth as possible. When Jim pulls off, Spock starts using his fingers to help get the rest.

His hips are still thrusting in the air, cock hard as rock. He looks hungrily at Jim, and Jim stares at him challengingly.

With a frustrated growl, Spock’s hips still. His need is pulsing through the bond, but Jim sends back just as fiercely that he won’t tolerate this. He can feel Spock thinking that he could take Jim and force it.

But Jim can also feel Spock not wanting to force Jim into anything, loving Jim too intensely to explain, more than anything in _pon farr_ could.

When he’s fully acquiesced, lying back like a trained, caged tiger, Jim reaches over to grab his cock, pumping it only a few times before it twitches and bursts, gushing up into the air. He pumps it out and purrs, “Good boy,” while stroking Spock’s chest with the other hand.

* * *

Jim wakes up to a heavy weight on his chest and a tight grip around his cock. Again. Already. He doesn’t know how long he was out, and he doesn’t bother to ask the computer. Anything human would’ve gone permanently limp by now, and Jim does wonder vaguely how long this _pon farr_ will last. It’s been three days now. Jim hasn’t managed to leave his quarters; it’s just sex, sex, and more sex. Small pauses to eat and to feed his animal, showers that don’t last, and short bathroom breaks. Then just _sex_. 

He’s impressed that Spock’s bottoming at the moment though. If Spock were going to jump him in his sleep when he couldn’t fight back, he would’ve thought it would’ve been the other way around. Of course, Spock never saw it the same power-play way that Jim did.

As Jim rubs his eyes and mutters for the lights to come on, only halfway, Spock groans, “I apologize, Captain.”

Jim freezes instantly, hand falling from his face. That sounds like the old Spock. Normal Spock. When he looks up properly, Spock’s head is hung, dark bangs half covering his knit-together eyebrows, eyes closed. He’s got his hands flat on Jim’s stomach, and he’s lifting himself up and down on Jim’s cock, fucking himself hard. It’s a struggle not to moan on every drop, and Jim reaches for Spock’s hips, already covered in finger marks.

“Apologize for what?” Jim half chuckles, half moans. He starts thrusting up to help, making Spock bounce. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jim’s sure to drink all of it in.

Spock just shakes his head, like he doesn’t know or can’t form the words. His cock’s engorged and pulsing against his stomach: the way it always is when he’s got Jim in him. He licks his lips and strains to say, “I am... I am slowly coming... nearer to my senses...”

“A shame,” Jim snorts. “You’ve made a particularly good fucktoy. Although there was that one transgression...”

Spock snarls suddenly, like he wants to apologize but he also just wants to fuck Jim senseless, and his normal articulation is failing him. It’s fine with Jim. He’s not in the best condition to converse. Spock moves one hand to his own cock, and Jim doesn’t help, just watches him go. He comes first, shooting over Jim’s stomach and moaning languidly, ass spasming around Jim’s cock.

It pulls the orgasm out of Jim: the perfect way to start the morning. He fills Spock’s ass up with his cum, and Spock waits for it all before pulling off.

Then Spock falls to the mattress beside him, and Jim sighs, “You’ll have today off, and tomorrow I expect you back on the bridge in full working order.” He seriously needs more water and a shower, but that would require moving, and the rain of orgasms has left him heady. He hasn’t come this much in such a short time since his Academy days. ...And even then, they were never this rigorous...

Spock’s staring up at the ceiling. His eyes aren’t as focused as usual, but they’re also not as cloudy as before. He says slowly, “Captain... Jim... we will still be soul bonded after this; it was not just for sex.”

Jim knew that. Even if the terms were never explicitly stated. But they were connected anyway, and he really doesn’t see this as as much of a problem as everyone else seems to think. Things have hardly changed. He doesn’t care about Bones’ warnings or Spock’s worries. He rolls onto his side and pulls the blankets back up over himself, grunting, “Lights.”

They flicker off. He could use a few more hours. The bed dips and Spock curls up around his back, arm over Jim’s waist, thigh between Jim’s legs. Spock’s skin is warm and sweaty, and the stench of sex is heavy in the air. Jim doesn’t answer Spock’s words.

They have their bond now; he doesn’t have to.

* * *

By the time it’s over, Jim honestly can’t fathom how either of them is able to walk. They shower profusely and Jim takes a few pills to up his protein and mental agility; he feels spent and sluggish. Spock’s mostly back to his usual self.

Except that he’s covered in hickeys and bruises more visible than Jim’s, and while Jim has Bones heal his own mess, he won’t let Spock near sickbay. They stick out the collar of his shirt, but Spock is rigid and robotic and pretends not to notice or care. He sits down at his station like nothing ever happened.

Jim takes a few minutes to snicker to himself, mostly because he can see the smirks on his crews’ faces as they look at the marked first officer. Then he’s checking the course with Sulu and adjusting slightly for a rendezvous with a Tellarite trader. Bones strolls onto the bridge a few minutes later, heading for a console on the left.

Jim catches his eye and waves him over instead. Lifting an eyebrow, Bones trails over, bending forward. Jim keeps his hand held up to indicate this is something of a secret, and he whispers, “Do you think you can synthesize a serum to trigger _pon farr_ early?”

“Trigger? Wh—” Bones jerks up, making those spluttering noises he does when he can’t believe anyone would ask something so stupid. “Are you insane?” At the curious glances from various officers and Jim’s own glare, Bones colours and bends back down again, but doesn’t take it back.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. I asked if you could do it.”

“ _Why_?” But Bones clearly answers his own question in his head, because a second later he grumbles, “Really, Jim? Really? You want to just turn your first officer into a monster every time you want a quick fuck?”

“Anytime, not every, and violent, not quick, but basically, yes.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Jim only smirks. As much as his cock is enjoying the break, he knows that won’t last. He’ll want Spock again, just like he always does, and now that he knows what kind of beast is lying dormant inside that tight body...

Well, it seems a shame not to properly harness that strength. Perhaps next time, he’ll keep his record and top every time. He does love a challenge.

Bones rolls his eyes as he pulls back, forced to try. For his own sake, he better succeed. Jim watches him go.

And then Jim’s back to Spock, just like always.


End file.
